


A Shoulder to Lean On

by Okamichan6942



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-10
Updated: 2008-06-10
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:30:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2794832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okamichan6942/pseuds/Okamichan6942
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet receives an unusual call from Jazz alerting him to Prowl's imminent arrival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shoulder to Lean On

**Author's Note:**

> I'm using smut to explore how Prowl's bond with Elita affects his relationship with Ratchet. I realize (now) that Elita-1 is the TF:A spelling of the name; bear with me. Takes place during Search for Alpha

" _Hey Ratch!_ " Jazz's voice sang over general comm of the medbay, drawing both Ratchet and Wheeljack's gazes toward the speaker set in the ceiling.

"What is it, Jazz?"

" _Got incoming._ "

The medic twitched, setting down the tool he'd been cleaning. "What slagging idiot hurt himself when there hasn't been a battle for slagging weeks? Sideswipe? Inferno? Slagging Gears?"

" _It's Prowl._ "

Both the medic and the inventor exchanged a look. The executive officer had been scarce the past few days, since Optimus and his team had left for Cybertron to help the femme unit.

" _He's comin' in hot, and he's comin' in fast._ " Jazz actually sounded serious, an unusual feat for the mech. " _He asked ya to clear th' medbay of all personnel_."

Another silent, shared look. Wheeljack straightened from the arm he'd been working on (it never hurt to keep certain mechs' parts stocked). It wouldn't be a security matter, there was nothing Ratchet was cleared for, that Wheeljack wasn't as well. "Think you'd like some company, Jazz?"

The grin came back into the voice. " _Always can handle your company, babe._ "

A grumble sounded from Wheeljack's engine at the use of that endearment, but his vocal indicators lit in amusement. "Call me if you need me."

"Of course."

Truthfully Prowl's request baffled the CMO. There were no real secrets about the executive officer, he had no major glitches outside of his battle computer, and he was not accident prone even in this planet's unpredictable traffic. Ratchet couldn't figure out what could possibly be wrong with the tactician.

His answer would arrive soon, already he received the alarm from Red Alert's station of a car driving through the halls at reckless speeds, and Ratchet's worry increased tenfold at that piece of information.

Prowl never drove through the corridors, much less at a speed that would endanger anyone.

He heard the roar of a stressed engine coming down the corridor to the medbay. The screech of brakes and the doors opened to Prowl transforming and staggering in.

His optics flickered.

Like lightning flashing across the sky, their wide gaze locking onto the CMO immediately and drawing Ratchet to the black and white mech as surely as a tractor beam. Prowl didn't say a word as he straightened and tried to compose his frame, even if he couldn't stop the flickering of his optics, or the slack, almost lost expression on his face.

It halted Ratchet in his tracks suddenly, but Prowl closed the distance between them. White hands rested on the medic's arms with a soft clink, almost blending into the ambulance's white plating.

"Slaggit, Prowl, I'm not reading any damage on you. Did something crash that damned computer of yours again?"

The officer's vocalizer buzzed with restrained words, but the tactician merely shook his head, leaning forward to lay his head on Ratchet's windshield.

Ratchet stared down at his lover, uncertain of what to make of this development. Prowl was never one to be demonstrative in a public place, much less seek such blatant tactile contact with Ratchet.

It had always been one of the tactician's more unpleasant duties to maintain the illusion of a healthy relationship with Elita-1. It had fallen on all the unit commanders bonded to her to do the same. It had always been a matter of some contention between the two that they could not be open about their relationship. It was considered the worst-kept secret on the Ark.

"What the slag is fragging going on Prowl?"

Again the tactician chose not to answer, instead he set his hands on sensitive seams along the medic's hips and pushed.

Ratchet gave way before the mech, confused by the mixed signals of constraint and desire from the grip of the white hands and the silence of his voice.

He slagging hated not knowing what was going on.

Prowl leveraged Ratchet to a medical berth, a sturdy one designed for mechs of Ratchet's size.

It wasn't Prowl's computer than.

"Please," finally words whispered out of those gray lips, "I can't..." Rather than revealing what he couldn't, Prowl dragged Ratchet's head down for a demanding kiss. The tactician knew every spot to hit to make Ratchet turn to so much gel in his hands.

It didn't take long for Ratchet to start reciprocating, having the executive officer writhing in his hands, muted glitching cries buzzing from his vocalizer. Moans and groans came out stifled, and garbled, like a transmission disturbed by a storm.

"What the slag aren't you telling me?" Ratchet panted as he nipped at Prowl's neck, his fingers twined in the hidden door hinges.

Prowl arched under the red hands, shoving hard against the medic and grinding their chassis together.

"Nngh..." He finally spoke but the word that burst from his vocalizer did nothing to settle Ratchet. "Eh-litah!" Prowl's optics flared in an overload that wasn't reflected in his stats on Ratchet's HUD.

The black and white mech shook and shuddered, systems revved and waiting for the continued attentions to bring him down the path his processor told him he'd already taken.

Ratchet ground his dental plates, understanding suddenly what had pulled his lover from the duties that were the reason for his existence. He couldn't bring himself to kiss Prowl again, could barely continue the caresses that would draw Prowl into the overload he so desired. Ratchet's own systems cooled, and he flinched under Prowl's hands.

Unable to reach the taller mech's lips, Prowl satisfied himself with bites and kisses on the medic's windshield, with hands digging into unresponsive circuits.

Prowl's systems revved and then halted in overload, and the tactician lay lax against the medic's chest.

Ratchet stared ahead, but wrapped an arm around his lover, caressing the canopy that made up his back.

The red chevron suddenly lifted, and Prowl had the decency to look embarassed.

"Tell me," Ratchet commanded in a snarl.

Prowl's doorwings wilted under the accusation. "It was Elita, Optimus was with her. I couldn't..." his optics darkened, "I couldn't shut them out. I'm sorry." White hands lifted to clench the medic's shoulders. "I never meant to use you like that."

Ratchet shoved off the berth he'd been leaning against, shoving past Prowl. "You always use me, Prowl," the words tumbled out of his vocalizer faster than he could censor them, "and you're not one byte sorry." He muted himself against saying anymore. It hurt like the Pits to know what Prowl had come to him for, to know that the tactician wasn't even seeing him, but another who was literally a world away.

Yet his empathy programming kicked in that Prowl couldn't really fight the nature of his bond, and at least he sought it out with the medic rather than with any of the other officers.

Prowl straightened, doorwings flicking up as his optics flashed. "You are right, I do use you, nor am I sorry." He approached Ratchet, doorwings and posture stiff. "I have always trusted that you knew and understood the circumstances in which I have found myself. Am I wrong in thinking this?"

Ratchet glared down at him, clenching a hand on his own wrist to resist grabbing up and shaking the black and white mech. "Just because I slagging understand, doesn't mean I have to be happy with it."

Prowl met Ratchet's glare with a scowl. "What do you want me to do about it Ratchet? You know the effects of bonding better than most any unbonded mech. You knew-"

"Shut up! I don't want to hear it." This time Ratchet did seize the tactician's shoulder tires. "You say the same slag every time, and I tell you the same slag  _every time_. I do understand! I  _know_! This doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. Slag it, I can't even  _touch_  you unless I'm sure there's  _no one_  around." He reached out in demonstration, cupping his hand over Prowl's gray cheek. They both flinched at the contact, the situation too tense for such an intimate touch.

"You are right, of course. How often have you been right about our circumstances. It is not a position I am used to being in—not being right." He finally leaned into Ratchet's hand, his optics dim and flickering with the signal still pulsing over his bond. "You are right, I am not sorry about using you. I allowed the probability of success to blind myself to the consequences between us. For that I am sorry, as I am always regretful for that choice."

"It happened a long time ago, Prowl," Ratchet rumbled softly, drawing his shorter lover toward him. "We can't change the past, and I may not be happy about it, but I've learned to deal with it—"

"But sometimes you reach a boiling point, and need to explode. I know. We always seem to have this argument during times like this."

Ratchet laughed. "Yeah." He rubbed the top of Prowl's helm, stroking up the stubby tips of his red chevron. "Guess we'll never learn."

"That is illogical."

Ratchet leaned down to press a tender kiss to Prowl's cheek seam, lingering on the stern jaw. "It is. You've said it before."

Prowl's engine rumbled and he flicked his doorwings back for a brief moment. "I have." He moved his head to meet Ratchet's lips. "I need to stop repeating myself." White hands stroked the medic's windshield.

Ratchet smirked into Prowl's mouth. "Need to upgrade your learning protocols?"

The black and white mech huffed. "No." He pulled away, stepping back and breaking their contact. "I do need to return to the station. Sideswipe is probably wondering where I disappeared to."

Ratchet nodded, clenching his hands against reaching out again. "I'll see you when you get off cycle?"

"We will catch a round of high grade as normal."

Ratchet watched the doorwings disappear behind the closing door.

He leaned against a medical berth, sighing with exhaustion.

He couldn't blame Prowl, he'd been just as much a part of the consultation and decision to bond Elita-1 to the unit commanders. He vividly recalled all those vorn ago when they'd first established the bonds between the unit commanders and Elita-1 how Prowl-second of the commanders to link himself to the femme- had been affected by the additional initiations. The first time, he'd come to Ratchet just like this, revved up and aching with need. It affected each of Elita-1's bonded in such a manner and forced the process to take longer intervals between each intiation, to allow the mechs to recover, to allow them to focus on their duties unhindered, and to allow them to prep for the coming flux of emotions.

Ratchet couldn't always be there for such occasions, and, after a few times finding Prowl trembling with unspent desire, or being pounced by an overeager Enforcer, Ratchet reluctantly recommended that he find some other means of surcease. Ratchet, as one of the advising medics, had to monitor the bonding process to ensure the stability of both sparks. He couldn't be there for his lover.

Ratchet dimmed his optics, remembering how he'd snapped at Prowl that he didn't want to know who, and he didn't want to know where. It hurt to recall how calmly Prowl accepted the situation, even though Ratchet knew the tactician despised his loss of control, disliked seeking the attentions of anyone else.

He hoped Optimus and Elita-1 were happy with their reunion; Ratchet didn't know if he could be.


End file.
